


Origin

by tetila (AwakeMySoul)



Series: Origin Universe [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, semi-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwakeMySoul/pseuds/tetila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he ever knew was red and white.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Origin

  
His first away game with his new club was against Liverpool at Anfield. 

He dreaded it.

Everything still felt so foreign and new that sometimes at night he found himself wanting to be back at home. Back with Atlético, his first love. His only love. But he still believed it had been the right decision to leave his old club for Chelsea’s offer. The responsibility at Atlético had just gotten too much for him to take, as a player and as a captain. It had felt like the weight of the world resting on his shoulders, paralysing him, holding him back, so he had finally said yes when the offer had arrived. 

Blue. The colour he had to wear now. It looked wrong, so wrong, and there were times it hurt to see himself wearing it when all he had ever known was red and white. 

He was a Blue now and it should have felt good and exciting to be able to play for such a successful club in one of the best leagues in the world, but sometimes he couldn’t help but stare at the simple red stripe at the collar of his new kit. Red, and the only part that felt like it belonged.

The sheer power of Liverpool’s anthem sung by their fans sent shivers down his spine as he walked onto the pitch and he envied the obvious bond the club had with its fans. How good must it feel to have that kind of support, to have your name sung in loud voices across the whole pitch, echoing back and forth? He couldn’t imagine the feeling, but he thought it must be overwhelming to receive that kind of love from thousands of people.

_Fuck off Chelsea FC,_  
you ain't got no history,  
5 European Cups, 18 Leagues,  
that's what we call History! 

Fuck that hurt. The elbow smashed into his nose, solid like a concrete wall, and sent him down hard to the humid turf. Between the tiny black spots dancing in front of his eyes he saw a tall figure staring down at him, and for a moment he was sure there was a smirk on that man’s face, before he turned to walk away like nothing had happened. 

_What the fuck?_

Daniel Agger received a yellow for fouling him, and it annoyed him that the man didn’t look like he even cared, just wearing this goddamned, self-assured smirk as he walked back into position. It was ridiculous, but after that incidence his game went to hell, because he couldn’t seem to stop staring, always aware of Liverpool’s number five, and it affected his game so much that after 60 minutes he got subbed off. 

He was sitting on the bench now, had to watch the game from the sidelines, but instead of pouting and being angry with himself, he continued to stare. His gaze travelling up and down the slender form, and only when he realised his eyes had stopped on the curve of Agger’s ass he blushed and hurriedly looked away and down to ground. 

_What the fuck?_

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been attracted to the same gender before, but not to someone with lots of angry tattoos or to someone who was a bit on the scrawny side and certainly not to someone who, on top of that, had given him a shiner without even batting an eye. 

They lost and Anfield was celebrating, worshipping their heroes like they had just won a war.  
He envied them.

He was one of the last who walked back into the tunnel. 

“Nice black eye, Freckles,” he heard a slightly accented voice taunting him from the left and when he looked up and to his side he saw Agger who, of course, was smirking at him. The man’s eyes were dancing over his face, seemingly satisfied with his work. “Put some ice on it.” Before he could reply anything, the man rounded a corner and disappeared behind a door, ending the strange encounter. 

_What the fuck?_

Some of the lads were drowning their sorrows in a seedy pub somewhere in Liverpool, having to stay the night because of the bad weather. No planes flying down to London tonight. He was on his forth pint and his mind was pleasantly buzzed when he saw a familiar figure sitting at the bar. 

_What the fuck?_

From the looks of it, Agger had already spotted him because that fucking annoying smirk was there again and it was definitively directed at him. He scowled at himself when he felt a familiar tingling in the pit of his stomach. 

Maybe, maybe it was just the beer?

He broke eye contact after a longer-than-necessary moment and focused his attention back on his drink and the conversations around him. What were they talking about?

His self-control didn’t last long though and he glanced back towards the bar, like a moth to a flame, red like fire. And he was still there. Agger’s eyes were still watching him, but this time he didn’t back down.

"God, Fernando, you two are so fucking obvious," Frank growled at his side. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled distractedly, not really hearing his captain’s objection as he followed the motion of Agger’s tongue swiping over his lips after he took a gulp of his beer. Obvious? What did that even mean? Maybe he should look it up on his dictionary at home. He missed Spanish. 

“Agger can be a mean son of a bitch, Nando, be careful.” That was Frank again. “Fernando, are you listening?” 

“Yeah.”

In the end he didn’t remember what made him ignore Frank’s warning and accept Agger’s silent invitation, but when he left the pup together with the Dane, and with a promise for more, he clearly remembered thinking, _fuck it._

**The End**


End file.
